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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988285">The Witch on the Coast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_t2/pseuds/for_t2'>for_t2</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Blood, Curses, Dark Fantasy, F/F, Flowers, Folklore, Forests, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Late at Night, Monsters, Ocean, Storytelling, Tea, Whales, Witches, witching hour</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:14:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_t2/pseuds/for_t2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five folktales that have had an ending and one that hasn't yet</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Witch on the Coast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cabin floor barely felt solid, titled as it was on the shore, almost creeping bit by bit towards the waves. It was, perhaps, a small measure of mercy that the moonless sky made the night too dark to see the water crashing against itself and the land.</p>
<p>Or maybe Maëlle was just too tired to see the details. Maybe the floor was her imagination, born out of the unsteady wakefulness that hours of travel bring. And, maybe, waking up in the dead of night in the home of a stranger on the coast was enough to set her nerves a little on edge. Especially when this stretch of coast was so far from the cities.</p>
<p>“Hey you.” The stranger – Briallen was her name – smiled at Maëlle the moment Maëlle stepped into the kitchen. “You’re finally awake.”</p>
<p>“Finally, yeah.” Maëlle grumbled a little but tried not to sound too ungrateful. Not in a stranger’s home. Not when Briallen had lent her the bed. And definitely not when Briallen was holding out a cup of tea. “It’s been a long day.”</p>
<p>“That’s the problem with travelling, isn’t it?” The words titled slightly with Briallen’s accent. “The best places to find are always the hardest to reach.”</p>
<p>“Tell me about it.” Maëlle took the tea and sighed happily at the first sip, even if she didn’t recognise all the flavours in it. She had spent months travelling, not really going anywhere, not really looking for anything, just… she didn’t want to say running, but she didn’t have anywhere to go. And sometimes when you’re running, you hear something worth checking out on the way. “They said you were a witch.”</p>
<p>“A witch?” Briallen chuckled. “They say far worse things about me.”</p>
<p>“Is it true?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think so.” The lid of the biscuit tin clattered against the wooden table as she took it off. As she picked one up to munch on it. “I’m just good with stories. I have to be.” She glanced out the window, listening as the ocean spray hit the salt-stained glass. “And these hours are always the best for stories, aren’t they?”</p>
<p>Maëlle took another sip of her tea and considered taking a biscuit for herself. “Bedtimes stories?”</p>
<p>“Oh no.” Briallen grinned, and her teeth glinted like fangs in the firelight. “I mean the stories that make you scream. The ones that you’ll never be able to figure out if they’re true or not, and that you’ll spend the rest of your life being haunted by because one day, if you forget, you’ll know they’ll come for you.”</p>
<p>Maëlle wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t a witch.</p>
<p>“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Briallen helped herself to another biscuit and nudged the tin towards Maëlle. “People come to see the witch because they think she’ll take them somewhere where they’ll have power. For a price, of course.”</p>
<p>Maëlle didn’t have much in the way of money. Didn’t have much in the way of anything, really, besides the clothes in her backpack. “Do you? Have a price, I mean?”</p>
<p>Briallen shrugged. “Depends what you’re asking for.”</p>
<p>“I…” The mug was warm against her hands, and her cheeks felt warmer yet. Maëlle wasn’t sure what she could ask for that she could pay for. Wasn’t sure what she supposed to ask for. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see if there really was a witch.”</p>
<p>“Did you want me to tell you how to become a witch?” Briallen chuckled louder at the blush on Maëlle’s face. “You wouldn’t be the first person to ask me that. And it wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve said that it’s not something I can give. All I have are my stories.”</p>
<p>“I think…” Maëlle reached out quickly to grab a biscuit. To hide her face in it. “I think I’d like to hear your stories.”</p>
<p>“Which one would you like to hear first?”</p>
<p>Maëlle flicked through the possibilities in her mind. Glanced around the cabin for inspiration. Her eyes finished by the window. “Do you have one about the ocean?”</p>
<p>“I have many.” If Briallen really was a witch, the thought briefly flickered in the back of Maëlle’s head, the ocean must have stories about her too. “But let’s start with story of Melldwr the Forsaken.”</p>
<p>Briallen waited for Maëlle to grab another biscuit. For her to settle back in her chair.</p>
<p>“Melldwr was no one special. Just a fisher, throwing her nets out into the ocean and selling the fish she caught where she could. But she wanted more. And the merchants in the cities told her they wanted more too. So she weaved a bigger net and sailed out deeper into the waters, not just hunting for fish, but hunting for all the fish she could find.” Briallen snorted lightly. “When the waters realised how much she had taken from them, they grew angry They asked for them back. And she refused.”</p>
<p>Maëlle nodded with the beats of the story, barely aware that she was stuffing a third biscuit into her mouth.</p>
<p>“The next time she sailed out into the oceans, the waters asked again. And she refused, again. Then the waters asked again, a third time, and that time, she told them that if even she wanted to, she couldn’t. She had already sold all the fish. And if the waters were angry before, this time they boiled furious. They said, if she couldn’t give them back their fish, they would take her instead.” Briallen snorted again. “Melldwr tried to run, of course, but it’s to outrun the waters. They smashed against her boat, snaking their way in through ever crack and hole in the hull, latching onto the boat with all they had.”</p>
<p>Maëlle couldn’t help but spare a quick glance out the window, at the waters roiling black in the dark.</p>
<p>“But Melldwr got lucky. She found an island. And just before the waters claimed her boat, she jumped. She swam like hell to get to that island, and she just, just made it.” Briallen took a sip of her tea before continuing. “And when she made it, she laughed at the waters. She swore at them and dared them to do their worst. But the island was small. It was barren. There was nowhere for her to go.”</p>
<p>“What happened?” Maëlle didn’t realise she was speaking until the words left her mouth. “What did she do?”</p>
<p>“Well, what do you think she did?” Briallen shrugged. Pointed to the roof. “On the first night, she asked the stars to take her, and said that she would owe them her life. But the stars rejected her, saying she was too far away for a single lifetime. So on the second night, she asked the Moon, saying that if she couldn’t owe her life, she would offer her soul instead. But the Moon rejected her as well, saying that souls weren’t meant for a cycle as regular as the Moon’s. So on the third day, she asked the Sun, promising her heart, as it was the only thing she had left. But the Sun too rejected her, saying that her heart needed the dark and would burn in the Sun’s heat.”</p>
<p>A small plunk hit the cabin roof, a raindrop falling down from the clouds above.</p>
<p>“With nowhere left to go,” Briallen paid no attention to it, focusing on her story instead. “Melldwr had no choice but to turn back to the waters. And she wept and begged for forgiveness and begged for mercy.” A second raindrop soon followed the first. “Now, the waters aren’t evil, of course, so they listened. They offered her a deal. Let us take you, let go of your life, your soul, your heart, and we will give you purpose.”</p>
<p>“Purpose?”</p>
<p>Briallen nodded. “Forsaken by the stars and the Moon and the Sun, she accepted the deal, and walked out into the cold ocean, where the waters claimed her at last. And ever since, whenever a fishing boat casts its net a little too wide or fires its harpoons a little too deep, Melldwr awakens and she rises up from the deep so that the waters can retake what’s theirs.” Briallen paused for a second. “And that is the story of Melldwr the Forsaken.”</p>
<p>“Wow.” Maëlle found herself wondering what Melldwr must look like, after so much time spent underwater. “I mean, it’s not a bad ending, is it?”</p>
<p>“The fish she took never saw the waters again.” Briallen shrugged. “In the end, there’s still one more monster in the world and that can’t undo the damage done.”</p>
<p> “I guess.”</p>
<p>“And, really, I don’t think these stories have endings. Just because the text finishes doesn’t mean the story’s over.” Briallen’s voice trailed off for a moment, losing itself in thought, before it snapped back towards Maëlle. Before she pointed at Maëlle’s mug. “You should finish your tea before it gets cold.”</p>
<p>“Oh, right. Yes, I should.” Maëlle chuckled as she realised the heat was fading from her hands. Lukewarm tea wouldn’t be an ending she was looking forward to. “Can you tell me another story?”</p>
<p>Briallen nodded. “About the oceans again?”</p>
<p>Maëlle took a moment to sip her tea before answering. “How about something about the forests?” She had spent a long time travelling through them before reaching this cabin. “They’re beautiful out here.”</p>
<p>“They are.” Briallen traced a finger across the wood of the tabletop. “So how about the story of the Voiceless Woods?”</p>
<p>Maëlle leaned forward in her chair. “I’m ready.”</p>
<p>“There was a girl called Taraidd from a small mining village in the valley forests. It wasn’t a happy village. The mines were back-breaking work, that left every worker dirty and that left their lungs rotten. But they couldn’t stop working, because without working, they’d have no money, and without money, they couldn’t pay the lord who owned their homes and their fields.” Briallen titled her head for a moment. “Of course, the lord also owned the mine, but that just left the villagers with even less choice.”</p>
<p>“What about the girl?”</p>
<p>“Taraidd? Well, she was special. She had the most beautiful voice the village had ever heard. She sang like no one in the valley had sung in hundreds of years.” She frowned at her mug. “But the more she grew up, the more she realised that the mines were waiting for her. Like everyone else in the village, she would be condemned to spend her years chipping away at the seams, hoping that the seams were chipping away at her faster than she was them.”</p>
<p>Maëlle winced. “That’s awful.”</p>
<p>“It was. Every day, as soon as no one was looking, she run out of the village and run as deep into the woods as she could. And there, she would spend the day singing every song she knew, each time more desperately than the last.” Briallen smiled sadly. “Then one day, someone listened. A dryad. The dryad would wait for her every day. It didn’t take long before she fell in love with Taraidd.”</p>
<p>It sounded nice. Well, not it didn’t – having to die young in the mines sounded awful – but it sounded romantic.</p>
<p>“One day, the dryad stepped out from the trees. Dared to introduce herself to Taraidd. Dared to tell her how beautiful her singing was.” Briallen’s smile just got sadder. “Of course, Taraidd was thrilled. To get to talk to a spirit. To get to sing for a spirit. To anyone who wasn’t from her village. And she began to look more and more forward to being able to sing for the dryad. It wasn’t long before she was falling in love with the dryad too.”</p>
<p>Definitely romantic.</p>
<p>“But there was a problem. That day she would have to head to the mines was drawing near. And the villagers knew she was an amazing singer. They couldn’t face the idea of her being sent to the mines. So they decided they would act. Not only for Taraidd, but for all them. And when she told the dryad of these plans, the dryad offered to help.”</p>
<p>The dryad would. It’s what you’d do for someone you love. “That’s good.”</p>
<p>“Taraidd laughed at the dryad’s offer.” Briallen’s tone was deathly serious. “She was special. She didn’t need the help of a bunch of dirty miners. She was going to go to the lord instead. She was going to offer him evidence of the villagers’ treason. The lord would surely see her loyalty, would see her talents, and would offer her a way out in return. She was going to have everything she could want.”</p>
<p>Oh no.</p>
<p>“This left the dryad with a terrible choice to make. That night, the dryad crept down to the village and knocked on Taraidd’s door.” Briallen knocked on the table to illustrate. “She told her she had to come to the forest immediately. Taraidd, of course, followed her without thinking. But in the forest, the trees sprang into action, their branches curling around Taraidd, trapping her.”</p>
<p>“What happened?”</p>
<p>“The dryad asked Taraidd for forgiveness, and Taraidd spat at her. And then the dryad did what she knew she had to do. She fashioned a knife out of the wood and cut out Taraidd’s tongue, leaving her voiceless and trapped, unable to betray the villagers.” Briallen’s sad smile came back. “Unable to sell her song to a lord that would only corrupt it.”</p>
<p>“Did she…” Was she dead? “Did the village find out?”</p>
<p>“The village guessed that the lord had her killed. So they fought him. And they won. The village was free.” Briallen shrugged. “But Taraidd never would be. And she still wanders that forest, ripping out the tongues of any traveller who passes by in the hope that one day, she’ll find hers.”</p>
<p>Maëlle stayed silent for a moment, letting the story sink in. It wasn’t a fate she would ever like to face. “Is it weird that I feel a little bad for her? The dryad, obviously, but also Taraidd?”</p>
<p>“Unfortunate circumstances often make for unfortunate fates.” Briallen’s voice stayed even, impassive. “But she still made that choice freely.”</p>
<p>“I know.” Still, Maëlle really couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Even if she did make the wrong choice. Unfortunate circumstances and all that. “What’s the next story?”</p>
<p>“The next story?” Briallen whistled a handful of random notes as she thought. “Let’s do the story of the curse of the red daffodils.” Maëlle nodded eagerly. “There was a gardener in a small town once, a peaceful town far from the borders of the kingdom, and in that town, there was a young gardener, the daughter of the town bakery. Of course, she helped her parents run the bakery, but what she really loved were the flowers in her garden. But she wasn’t the only one who loved those flowers.”</p>
<p>As Briallen told the story, Maëlle attention turned towards the flowers clumped together inelegantly in the vase by the kitchen sink. Red and purple and black mixed together (although none were white). “Were they daffodils?”</p>
<p>“Some were. And those were the young blacksmith’s favourites, a fact she talked about often when she helped the gardener tend to them. She was a surprisingly delicate person, the blacksmith, all muscles and calloused hands that smelled of ore, but delicate. Until the day the kingdom went to war.” Briallen drained the rest of her mug and set it back down on the table. “The blacksmith was the first in the town to join the King’s army, telling the gardener that she would bring back the treasures of the world to her. The gardener, of course, was smitten.”</p>
<p>Maëlle couldn’t help but let out a small snort at that. The treasures of the world. It was a little corny. Just a little.</p>
<p>“The day the blacksmith was due to march off to war, the gardener held her hand and one last time, plucking a daffodil out of her garden and weaving into her armour. As she did so, she told the blacksmith that for every enemy knight she killed, she would plant an entire garden of daffodils for her bravery. If she came back, of course.”</p>
<p>Oh no. “Don’t tell me the blacksmith died horribly?”</p>
<p>Briallen raised an eyebrow. “I won’t.” Her lips twitched upwards in a smirk. “Because she didn’t. The war was a success. A huge success. The blacksmith returned to the town before the first winter storm, bearing treasure beyond her wildest dreams, and took the gardener’s hand in marriage, ready to live happily ever after.”</p>
<p>Somehow, Maëlle had a feeling the blacksmith dying horribly was still on the cards. “But?”</p>
<p>“At first they did. The winter was cold and harsh, as all winters are, but soon came spring, and soon came the time for the gardener to plant a new garden of flowers.” Briallen’s smirk grew wider. “One night, after a hard day’s work in the garden, their satisfied slumber was interrupted by the clang of metal. By the rattle of bones. Out of the dirt, out of those flowers planted in glory rose the ghosts of the warriors vanquished by the blacksmith.”</p>
<p>“Is this the part where they die horribly?”</p>
<p>“It is. The army of ghosts razed the town to ashes, the blood of the slaughter staining the daffodils in the garden red.” Briallen raised her mug to her lips before remembering it was empty. “The ghosts then turned their swords to the next town down the road, and soon panic spread. It was only a matter of weeks before the victorious kingdom collapsed, blood red flowers carpeting the devastation.” Briallen pushed her chair away from the table. “If a red daffodil ever grows in your garden, it is a sure sign that disaster is on its way.”</p>
<p>Disaster, eh? “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to. I personally like the colour red.” Briallen grinned as she took Maëlle’s mug. “But maybe that’s just because I’m a witch.” She stopped by the sink. “Should I make some more tea?”</p>
<p>“Yes please.” Maëlle still hadn’t figured out what spices were in the mixture, but she had enjoyed the tea and she was enjoying the stories even more. She wasn’t ready to stop. “As long as you have another story.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I do.” She chuckled as she filled the kettle up with fresh water. “Let’s go back to the forest, shall we?” As she turned up the heat. “There’s no village this time, just the forest, just the trees. And a businesswoman.”</p>
<p>“A businesswoman?”</p>
<p>“Oh yes, a very successful one. One who had just signed a charter from the King for exclusive rights of trade in their country’s newly conquered lands. She had had to fight hard for this charter, you see, the trees in these new lands were like none they could’ve imagined. It was the lightest, most solid, most durable wood they had ever seen.” Briallen washed out the last dregs of cold tea from the teapot as she spoke. “The businesswoman was determined to make the most of the opportunity she had won.”</p>
<p>Businesspeople tended to be that way. “I can imagine.”</p>
<p>“Her workers came to the forest with axes, and began cutting into the trees, ready to haul the wood back to her ships. But that’s when the problems began.” She paused a moment to wipe the teapot dry. “Every time they dragged their axes back out of the wood to make the second chop, the bark grew back. They chopped and chopped and chopped, but the trees came no closer to falling.”</p>
<p>Magic trees. Interesting. Maëlle had to wonder how they were going to kill the businesswoman this time. “What did they do?”</p>
<p>“Well, at first the businesswoman ordered her works to just chop harder. To spend longer hours in the forest. She threatened to lower their pay and promised them special bonuses. None of it worked. So she called in her carpenters. Had them design new axes. She called in her biologists. Had them examine the leaves of the trees. Still, the trees stood tall.” Briallen shrugged. “That’s when the businesswoman had an idea. She was overthinking it, she said. If a living tree couldn’t be cut, a dead tree would. All her workers had to do was uproot the trees.”</p>
<p>“Did it work?”</p>
<p>“What the businesswoman forget was that the trees had stood in that forest for centuries. Their branches reached up high into the sky and their roots deep, deep into the ground.” Briallen’s voice dropped dramatically as she said deep. “Deep into the ground. So deep that they had grown into wrolds long hidden beneath the Earth. And when they were dragged up into the sunlight, those underworlds were dragged up with them.”</p>
<p>And then they died horribly. There was definitely a theme to these stories. Not that Maëlle was growing bored of it.</p>
<p>“Not a single one of them made it out of the forest alive. The next charter the King signed for that forest was met with the same fate. And the next. And the next.” Bubbles began to pop in the near-boiling water, as if the rain was dropping down from the clouds and through the roof. “In the end, there wasn’t a single company who dared approach the King for another charter, and the forest was left alone. Ever since, the trees still stand.”</p>
<p>Maëlle chuckled at the end of the story. “I think that’s a happy ending. For the trees, at least.”</p>
<p>“I think so too.” The kettle finally whistled. “And you know, the story used to be much longer. But over time, the details have been lost. Nobody knows what the trees looked like, where those trees are, and what came up from those underworlds.”  </p>
<p>“Nobody?”</p>
<p>“Nobody at all.” Briallen took the kettle off its heater and poured the water into the teapot, steam wafting up into the air. “And as sad as it is to lose parts of a story, some people would say that, this time, maybe it’s for the best.”</p>
<p>“Maybe.” Maëlle could see why. “As long as time doesn’t let us forget that we should leave the trees alone.”</p>
<p>“It’s not time’s duty to make sure we don’t forget. It’s our own.” Briallen breathed in the smell of the tea and nodded to herself in satisfaction. “Would you like to hear a story about memories, then?”</p>
<p>Maëlle grinned. “Definitely.”</p>
<p>“It’s said that there is a great whale out in these oceans known as the Cofwydd, as old as time itself, and who was chosen by the gods to serve as one of the guardians of the ocean. As the keeper of memory. And so the whale was blessed with a memory that saw everything and never forget.” Briallen poured two new mugs of tea, sliding one over to Maëlle. “Now, one day, in a kingdom by the coast, there was a Queen who grew tired of all the laws and taxes and diplomats she had to manage. In her boredom, she demanded that her ministers tell her a story instead, something more pleasant than the bureaucracy of state.”</p>
<p>Maëlle took the mug happily, letting it warm her hands for a minute before drinking. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>“When she insisted, when she demanded, her ministers brought the palace librarian to her, saying that she could take her pick of the kingdom’s greatest stories. But the queen rejected the offer, having already read all the stories in the library. She was too tired, she said, to wade through another epic.” Briallen took a sip of her tea and sighed. “Instead, the ministers rounded up a selection of commoners from the city so that the queen could hear the small, everyday stories of love and success. But the commoners couldn’t. All they had were stories of pain and hunger, of families torn by war, loves torn by plague, children who only knew of work, and elders who only hoped for rest.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t sound like a very nice kingdom.”</p>
<p>“Well, when the queen heard those stories, she scoffed. Look at our great walls that protect you from invasion, she said. Look at the palace treasury, overflowing with treasures. Look at the great palace banquets, she said, the envy of the world’s ambassadors. She should have them all executed, she said, for trying to play her sympathies, for trying to play her like a fool so they could swindle the kingdom’s riches for themselves.” Briallen shook her head. “No, these commoners knew nothing of her great kingdom, and she had no patience to deal with them. Instead, she ordered her ministers to build her a ship. She would seek out Cofwydd. The great whale would have the stories she wanted to hear.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t sound like a very nice queen. Maëlle took another sip of tea to stop herself from interrupting the story.</p>
<p>“So the queen set sail on her ship, scouring the ocean for sight of the whale that saw everything and never forgot. And after a few weeks, she did. She found Cofwydd.” Briallen chuckled again, a sound that Maëlle had to admit she liked hearing. “Of course, the queen was overjoyed. Finally, she said, she would get to hear her stories. But when she demanded that the whale tell her everything, the whale just sighed. Cofwydd was a guardian of the oceans and had spent all its life in the waters. It could give her stories from as far back as the first wave of the sea, but it could only tell her stories of the waves.”</p>
<p>“I bet the queen reacted well.”</p>
<p>“The queen was furious. How dare this whale lie to her, she shouted, and she demanded that the whale tell her what she wanted to hear. When the whale repeated that it couldn’t, she ordered her soldiers to arm their harpoons.” Briallen shook her head again. “Cofwydd, of course, saw this and slipped back into the water. But that only made the queen more furious. She ordered her troops to set chase, full speed ahead.”</p>
<p>Maëlle couldn’t help but worry that this story was going to end in a terrible death too. “Please tell me she didn’t catch the whale.”</p>
<p>“Have you ever tried chasing a guardian of the oceans?” Briallen laughed. “The queen never stood a chance. But that didn’t stop her from trying. So she chased and chased and chased, but her ship never saw the great whale again. And eventually, the ship’s rations ran low, the troops’ morale even lower, and the queen was forced to turn back to land.”</p>
<p>Maëlle let out a sigh of relief. That, at least, was good news.</p>
<p>“But the queen had only ever seen her kingdom from the windows of the palace, and she had spent so at sea that she had begun to forget that view. When the ship came within sight of her capital, and she saw the smoke, the dirt, the waste flowing down from the streets and the bodies of the paupers abandoned in them, she refused to believe what she saw.” Briallen glanced out the window. At the waves barely visible in the rain. “This, she said, was not her city. Not her kingdom. So she ordered her ship to keep sailing onwards. But the next port was no different. Nor was the next.”</p>
<p> Maëlle waited as Briallen paused. As she closed her eyes for a minute before opening them with another intense look.</p>
<p>“And ever since, her ship still sails the oceans, attacking every ship that passes too close and killing all those that can’t give her directions back to her palace.”</p>
<p>But nobody ever would. It wasn’t a good fate, lost in the ocean forever. “Are there a lot of ships like hers out there?”</p>
<p>“Depends who you ask. There are plenty of stories, but…” Briallen leaned back in her chair. Looked at the fire, at the flames crackling low. “But these hours are almost over. The night will soon begin to retreat, and these stories won’t quite the same anymore.”</p>
<p>“Oh, come on.” Maëlle wasn’t tired anymore. “Just one more? Please?”</p>
<p>Briallen stared at her for the longest moment. “Okay.” Before nodding. “Let me tell you the story of the Island of Lliwiau.”</p>
<p>“I’m listening.”</p>
<p>“There was a circle of flowers on the island that kept the demon imprisoned. Every one of the people who lived on that island had a flower in that circle was theirs, and every time a new child came to life, a new flower would be planted with the blood of birth, and ever time an elder died, they would be buried at sea with the flower of their life. It was crude magic, but it seemed to work.” She held up a hand before Maëlle could speak. “The demon stayed trapped inside the rocks of the island. Of course, evil still fell on the island every once in a while, but never the demon.”</p>
<p>Maëlle couldn’t stop herself. “What type of demon was it? How did it get trapped there? What type of magic were they using?”</p>
<p>“Only a few of the islanders were trusted to keep the wards that kept the island safe. Only a few, and those were sworn to a secrecy. Some islanders were curious, of course, but since the demon never rose, nobody complained.” Briallen chuckled. “But one day a girl was born who liked to talk to the demon.”</p>
<p>Maëlle held her breath.</p>
<p>“The demon didn’t talk back, the demon couldn’t, but this girl talked to it anyway. She would sit outside the flowers, and she would talk, sometimes just the gossip of island life, sometimes stories she made up herself, sometimes whatever new bit of magic she had managed to wrangle out of the ward-keepers.” Briallen quickly added, “In secret, of course, often in the dead of night, when the world is most intense. The rest of the islanders always thought she was a bit strange, but they never paid much attention to it. She was, after all, just a girl, and the island was a peace. But everyone grows up in the end.”</p>
<p>Briallen’s face took an expression that Maëlle couldn’t quite decipher. That made Maëlle hold her breath even more.</p>
<p>“When she became a young woman, she asked to become one of the ward-keepers. But she was refused. The islanders didn’t quite trust her, and she saw no reason to give up her strangeness. From that day, she began to resent the islanders and they began to fear her. They began to ask themselves what to do about her and she began to ask herself what to do about them.” Briallen chuckled, a deeper chuckle than Maëlle had heard yet. “One night, she took a knife with her to the circle. She went to the flower that was hers and dug it out of the ground. The circle broken, she held the flower up to the night with her blood and dared the demon to show itself.”</p>
<p>“Did it? Did she…” Maëlle felt the goosebumps rising on her arms. “What did the demon do?”</p>
<p>“The islanders had decided among themselves than one of them should always have an eye on her, and that night was no different. She had barely had time to hold up the flower before the alarm was sounded and they marched towards her.” Briallen grinned. “But they feared her too much to kill her. And they feared the demon even more. So they put her on a small boat and shoved her out to sea, praying that the gods would have mercy on them and that, just maybe, there was a chance that the demon would follow the one who had summoned it.”</p>
<p>These stories always ended with a terrible fate, at least for someone. Which meant that this story couldn’t be over yet. Or, at least, Maëlle didn’t think it could be over yet. “What happened next?”</p>
<p>“I have no idea.” Briallen shrugged. “It’s been a long, long time since they put me on that boat.”</p>
<p>“You mean…” Maëlle’s nerves froze. She froze, hand stuck around her tea. “You.”</p>
<p>Briallen just nodded. She didn’t say more. She didn’t say anything for the longest time. “You told me you haven’t figured out where you want to travel to, didn’t you?”</p>
<p> Maëlle managed to nod. Managed to squeak out a “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Hm.” Briallen nodded again. Glanced out the window again. “Well then.” She looked back at Maëlle and held out a hand. Held out an invitation. “Maybe it’s time I found out.”</p>
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